


Just Like Home

by EryinForde



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Dreams, Fluff, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EryinForde/pseuds/EryinForde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a day of going about his business as Inquisitor, Faren Lavellan sets up camp. They make themselves feel at home  as best they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Home

"Creators, it's cold," I mutter to nobody in particular. Since early hours of the day, we've been scouring the Emprise du Lion to get a foothold for the Inquisition. Whilst it is imperative we secure the area and find the lyrium quarry, it’s the kind of place I hate the most. Cold, unforgiving, and oh so icy. 

The day had been spent fighting mostly red templars, with the occasional bandit. For this mission in particular, I had Varric, Blackwall, and Dorian join me. As the sky grew darker, camp was welcomed when it came and the party was relieved. Before long, the Inquisition soldiers had set up with supplies and shelter, and it was deemed time to rest.

Varric was inside one tent, probably either writing or crooning over Bianca. The dwarf had taken to bringing blankets along to the more harsher climates they travelled in, and most were not the type to turn down small comforts. Blackwall was with other Inquisition officers by the requisition table, discussing something that sounded relatively light-hearted. After the day they'd had so far, no-one could deny the Warden a break. 

Dorian, no doubt, was in the other tent. The only one who handled the cold worse than me, a Dalish from the Marches, was the Tevinter mage. Understandably, Tevinter was far warmer and more habitable than southern Orlais, so the conditions were a bit of a shock to Dorian. After finishing up outside with some of the more dull Inquisition matters, I decide to join the mage inside. 

I unclip a clasp at the entrance and peered inside. "Knock knock?"

From in the tent, Dorian looked up. He was sat amongst his things on the tent floor in an almost meditative position, and was dressed only in a vest and loose cloth slacks. A small smile grew on his face, "Who's there?"

I couldn't help but smile either. "The Inquisitor."

"'The Inquisitor' who?"

"Please let me in, I'm freezing my boots off."

"That wasn't a very funny one, Faren." Dorian chuckled.

Undoing the other clasps, I slide my boots off and clamber inside. "But you're laughing, so that's a success," I grin at the mage.

Immediately, I notice the warmth of the tent. It feels like the bloody Western Approach in here. "Creators, Dorian, what have you done in here?" I ask, unbuckling the winter coat that now constricts me. 

"Nothing. I cannot help that my natural attractiveness causes people around me to disrobe."

I roll my eyes, and strip out of my numerous layers, until only a simple shirt and pair of leggings remain. "I mean besides that. The heat."

Dorian gives me a questioning look, in spite of the mischievous curl on his lips. 

"Don't look at me like that," I smile, sitting down beside him. "You know what I mean."

Turning round to me, Dorian loosens his posture and the tent gets a little cooler. 

"Truthfully, it's a simple heat spell that I'm spreading out around the tent. It is but a small luxury I can take my comfort in." 

"It can't accidentally set the tent on fire, can it?" I ask, slightly suspicious of the mage and his utterly roguish smirk.

"No, I'm afraid it's rather tame. But it does, however, require a degree of concentration. So if you're going to distract me..." he winks and the temperature falls subtly again, "you might want to layer yourself up again." 

I laugh. "I was enjoying the change in climate, but I can think of a few things I'd enjoy more..."

Unable to resist, I lean toward the mage and move an un-gloved hand to his neck, pulling our faces closer. Dorian's skin emanates heat. Inhaling, I take in the mellow but spicy scent of him. Our lips tenderly meet for a moment, and Dorian caresses my cheek. His magically enhanced warmth sends a tingling sensation down the back of my neck, and I hum softly in approval. Spurred on, Dorian shifts his weight more toward me and tightens his grip. But as soon as he presses further into the kiss, the temperature drops considerably. 

"Creators!" I shiver, pulling away to find my discarded jacket. Frowning, Dorian runs his hand down my arm, which is now speckled with goosebumps. 

"Do you want me to keep the spell up?" the mage asked as Faren pulled on his leather jacket. 

"I think it'd be best if we just used clothing and blankets. And you have your... mana thingy to consider, right?" I add.

Reaching over, he found his own jacket and put it on. It wasn't quite the magical summery aura, but it was a step better, now that the warming spell had been dropped completely. Additionally to that, he now had me to keep him cosy. 

"We’ve not far to go now. Just that one castle, and the bridge. Should I get Inquisition resources on fixing it? I’m not sure what’s across it, but it could be worth a look. What do you think? Dorian?"

He was caught off guard in his own thoughts. "Hmm? Sorry?"

"Wow, you do seem a bit sleepy," I smile, "maybe some rest would do you well."

"Sleep? After such an irresistible man climbs into my tent? It's like you don't even know me, Inquisitor!"

\----x----

The aravels creak in the breeze. It's subtle and warm and the day feels so close to perfect. _Close, but not quite._

My legs ache. I could be making myself useful, but " _No, Faren. Stay put and wait for your father_ ".

Here, I feel a bit silly. Sat alone on a log amidst a bustling clan, doing nothing but waiting. I pull some long grass from the dirt by my feet and idly weave it to seem occupied.

Suddenly there's movement beside me.

"Hey, psst, Faren,"

I look up and see who it is, although I have a good idea already.  
Iven and I grew up together and we've been close ever since. We're best friends, definitely, no doubts. He's my... my…

"Iven?"

_This is wrong._

"Hey Faren!"

A strange feeling, a ghostly memory, swells inside me. His perfect golden curls and bluer-than-blue eyes are so bright and perfect in the sunshine. Almost... too much so…

Heart racing, I remind myself who Iven is. _Clansmate, hunter, friend, object of my unrequited adoration..._

_Shouldn't I know this? I should know this._

"You're..." my tongue gets the better of me.

As I feel the control drain from my body, it becomes hard to move but easier to think.

Iven's pure smile falters.

My feet grow heavy. The words on my lips escape me. Each of my senses dampens with static blackness.

I whisper, "You're supposed to be dead."

The image of Iven is blurred. He is speaking but listening is impossible, he's distressed, but _he's supposed to be dead._

I can't move. He reaches out. There's a weight on my shoulder and my back. I try to breathe but--

Suddenly, I can see again. A familiar tent ceiling fills my view.

Air rushes into my lungs, and out, and in, and out. It's uncomfortable. There's an ache in my chest and my mouth is dry.

_Calm down._

Tuning out of the sound of heaves and breaths, I blink and face the man beside me.

"Maker's breath, Faren. You frighten me half to death!"

I smile but it's weak. I'm ever so weary.

"Sorry, Dorian."

"Are you alright? You had a bad dream, I assume."

"Yeah, it was weird. I'm okay now, though."

He exhales and relaxes. "It seemed a worse than 'a bit weird'.“

Eventually my breathing evens out. I turn my body round to face him, and he lies back down too.

"I blame the Anchor," I mutter.

His smile is dashing and contagious. There is little else I could ask to wake up to.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

My brain searches for dregs of the dream, any memory of it, before it’s lost.

"It was about the clan. My clan, the Lavellans."

"You miss it?"

Of course, Dorian experienced his first Dalish clan encounter a few months back in the Exalted Plains. He had been surprised at their naturalistic ways of life, and how effectively they could live off the land. It was more sparse than he'd expected, and less simple. Being a Dalish elf was hard work, and apparently that was easily overlooked.

"Yes. It's... difficult not to think about them."

"The clan we met by the river, they reminded you of home?" Dorian's expression became sympathetic.

I nod and roll over onto my back.

"It was all very different. You lived all your life in a forest encampment away from human civilisation. Now, you lead a human army in the heart of a stronghold dedicated to you."

"Skyhold's not mine," I scoff quietly.

"It's the Inquisition's. And you're Inquisitor."

I hum contemplatively. It's the middle of the night and it's dark outside, but Dorian is using magic to illuminate the tent.

"At any rate," he says, "I think it'd be best to get some more sleep. There's a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

His voice is warm and rich, and I love it. I love him. I tell him, "I love you."

We both smile lazily and settle down. The light flickers and dims until everything is dark. Before I drift off, the last thing I'm aware of is the nocturnal creature ambience. 

_Just like home._


End file.
